The Ascending Lark
by Pianist707
Summary: Hunters rise to the duty of protecting the world against the villainous and the Grim. Beacon Academy holds potential, where everyone wishes to be more than just a name. This story revolves around others, those behind the scenes. In-progress. A revision of Miracles of Ancient Wonder. (The OCs do not interfere with the main storyline.)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Monty Oum of Roosterteeth created the world of RWBY. **

**Warning: This is an OC-driven plot.**

* * *

**The Ascending Lark**

**Chapter One: Steady Beginnings**

_Carissa Aria, Third Person PoV_

_This is it._

For the third time since Carissa boarded, she glanced beyond a window panel, brushing a hand across its slick surface.

Light brunette, green-eyed with a slight tan complexion and between ranges of heights, she stood in an ample crowd, a plain sight, well-aware she was one student among many gathered within one of Beacon's airships. Their energy mingled with hers, vibrant and hardly bottled, while she internalized the anticipation of arriving into one of the world's finest academies.

The nearest in Vale, as if it was stationed to follow up Signal's graduates and others filling the slot.

Carissa leaned from the window and glanced down. The bird's eye view stole her breath as her old school minimized to a speck beneath her. _Up here, and heading…where?_

Vale from above underscored its title as a city. Every neighborhood she pinpointed, every small landmark she sought, appeared like thick veins of land carved by architecture and traveling lights. To look at both familiar and new sights composed of her homeland drift further apart just drove a lump in her throat, and she swallowed.

Involuntarily, Carissa found herself pulling a paper from her thin, pewter overcoat's inner pockets. She read over the few names of classmates she listed, and then returned it. _Remember the initials. _

The list contained just three people that graduated alongside her from Signal. She would like to see a colleague, even if seldom, with these changing movements, since she doubted she had a chance of making acquaintances in the next few hours.

Beacon was a combat school that eclipsed others training outside a Huntsman or Huntress career. Beacon graduated people who you could depend on. And Carissa would take the mantle. However conflicted she still felt about leaving a civilian life, she had spent days deciding and now accepted this.

It was what she wanted, after all—leave common ground and in exchange, join the ranks of defenders of the world. Not just to nick the Grim and villain population. Past years, learning, and from her current life choices, desertion was nonexistent. She possessed the skills needed, so she offered her services. Today, she was a Huntress in training.

_Huntress _rolled rough through her mind. _Well, it's a title many others adopted, but it's not disposable as a nickname. _

"_The robbery was led by the nefarious criminal, Roman Torchwick, who continues to evade authorities…"_ A hologram of the Vale News Networks rambled out of her sight, and she kept an ear open in advance.

Although she qualified for Beacon, she doubted how she would survive. Academics were no problem, unless she needed a load of textbooks. She learned the majority of combat in a safe place; down to the rudimentary, discipline and all.

Carissa sighed lightly, turning back to the airship's side facing Vale. The motion swept her light brown hair and curtained her view, and she parted it to the left once more. The idea of living four years all worth of training questioned whether, after, if her goals remained unchanged. _This is not the time; you haven't stepped foot into Beacon at all, yet! _Carissa reminded herself.

Her thoughts went to a halt, interrupted when everyone fell to a silence enough that it gave way to the humming engines. She turned in their general direction and found herself staring at a hologram of a blonde, dressed in a dark pencil skirt, a white blouse, and ragged cape.

"_Hello, and welcome to Beacon."_ The woman began, and Carissa took a few steps nearer, taking in the rectangular frames and chartreuse eyes. Her authoritative tone had everyone hold their breaths, waiting for what they thought would transition to a speech. Which did. _"My name is Glynda Goodwitch. You are among the privileged few who have received the honor of being selected to attend this prestigious academy."_

Carissa dipped her head to stare at the toes of her gray knee-length boots. The best candidates came here not by luck or raw talent, but through polished skill. _Usually. _Fortune came to most_. "Our world is experiencing an incredible time of peace, and as future Huntsmen and Huntresses, it is _your _duty to uphold it. You have demonstrated the courage needed for such a task, and now it is _our_ turn to provide you with the knowledge and training to protect the world."_

As quickly as the hologram appeared, it blinked out. Whatever excitement everyone carried burst into chatter that resumed while the airship climbed altitude. Carissa, though, couldn't help but linger on Miss Goodwitch's words.

_The privileged few._

_ As future Huntsmen and Huntresses, it is your duty to uphold it._

_ Knowledge and training to protect the world._

_ You have demonstrated the courage needed…_

_Courage won't be the only recognized quality to have, I hope. _She furrowed an eyebrow. If one could unload their worries in a bank and withdraw them on the occasion, she would. She wished.

There were skills needed—and to be honed constantly—to battling. The essential ones could be recalled easily: years of practice, experience, healthy aura levels, morality, integrity, cooperation, studies, finesse…and the desire to protect the people of Remnant.

If her hopes met reality, she would find allies, acquaintances, friends and guides geared towards protecting the world. Within a four-year span.

Now Carissa regretted safeguarding all her books in her luggage, but she chose not to bother whoever manned the flight. Landing was tricky business.

So she busied herself with her messenger bag. It was layered with pockets of varying sizes. She sifted her hand carefully, their contents clinking, pulling out a hand-sized cartridge of grinded Dust. It was coated in a protective layer in case someone messed her things, with one side covered in olive green that enhanced her element, wind—aerokinesis. _It's on low supply. _She would have to avoid using vast amounts of it for the semester, even if she never depended on it too much. She blinked. _How often will I need to fight? _

"I heard that this year's batch is going to be very diverse." Someone said from her right.

Carissa glanced at a pair of boys who seemed older than the fresh ranks, laying back and ignoring the airship's progress.

"Wonder what the headmaster's gonna throw at them? He changes it every time…" the other replied.

"Well, I'd hate it if every year was the same, or everyone would think that's the standard."

Carissa flicked her eyes down her bag when one of them looked to her, setting her bag on the front of the window to count all cartridges she could find. Its insides had three layers, so she stuffed them full of cartridges. Next, she went through her baker's dozen of palm-sized crystal Dust.

Once his gaze passed, she zipped, clasped it shut, the review finished, and returned to the window.

She watched the suburban view subside into the river in thought. The academy, she knew, was set over a separate land with an entrance by a cliffside, both for security and geographical reasons to prevent anyone causing accidents near civilians, or pitch down themselves when things spiraled out. With this old information she tried to visualize how Beacon would change her. Meeting new faces and challenges were what would develop her into a _future _Huntress.

_A fifth-generation Huntress._ She corrected herself. _All of those discussions must amount to something. People, places, progress!_ The mental pep-talk managed to bring out a very-needed, small smile on her face.

Carissa rolled back and forth on her slight heels, memorizing harmless snippets through the past half hour of the flight. While she lacked any topics worth a talk, the ride to Beacon went leisurely.

_As if it's one of the few things that'll be simple here. _

In the long run, she knew nothing could be expected.

* * *

"_Cadets, please exit the transports and continue down the landing platforms. Please _do not_ wander near the cliff."_ A mechanical voice rang out, startling everyone into obedience. Like a swarm, the student body trickled down the halls and out the entrance of the airship. A few stopped to admire the view. Others walked and absorbed within a stride.

Carissa was the latter. Her eyes swept over the scenery as she shed her pewter overcoat to reveal a white-collared, long-sleeved blouse under a loose green vest with silver lining. She paused, away from the streaming crowd to roll her gray pants below her knees. Her twin blade sheaths winked dully in the light, and to be sure, she adjusted her knots. Her hands hidden by the overcoat wrapped in her arms, she went, heart racing.

It surprised her that the air stayed crisp at this height while the sun shone fierce in the clear sky. Farther ahead, there was a pond drawn in front of the academy's paths, complete of bridging structures and towers. Their size dwarfed standard buildings down in Vale when she contrasted them.

_I hope there's a tour. _This _calls for a tour._ She strolled alongside the remainder of the crowd out. Their doors slid shut, marking no return.

Carissa dismissed the wonders of the vast academy to speed up through the avenue. Poles that held blue banners flanked both sides of the path, fluttering slightly. Her mind blank, she held her overcoat close, glum. She adjusted her bag strap.

Her first day, uneventful. She noted catching eyes of a few passerby, but none seemed friendly enough to strike a conversation. There had been three people on that list: all of Signal, one who attended most of her classes, another closer, and the third she'd known since she acquired a taste of confections—twelve years ago. Three people who she knew comfortably. All nowhere to be seen, even as the minutes drew at a sluggish tempo.

Sylph Catalyst sunk her now, the twin blades unyielding to her waist. Inwardly, she grimaced yet plowed on, all high spirits.

"Excuse me?"

Carissa turned back promptly. The voice belonged to a girl about her height, black-haired, amber-eyed, and a bow just as dark topped on her head. Strapped to her back was a large sword sheathed in a formidable, black case. "Is this the right way?"

"Yes." Carissa replied.

"Thanks." She said briskly and continued on. Pondering, Carissa followed, keeping a respectful distance between her.

They went down the avenue. The travel felt faster, now that people flanked around her like scattershot towards the center of the place: a castle. Its namesake stood above it even farther, rising as a sharp cone supported by columns to contain the peculiar orbs within. Carissa broke her gaze before reaching the doorway, tenfold their size, thick, and open.

Inside seemed to be a large assembly area, already packed and thriving. No ceiling existed here. The sun was at its summit, as voices bounced off, louder than they should. With a light exhale she surveyed.

An amphitheatre claimed a quarter of the area full of uplifting aesthetics. Four windows aligned opposite of the amphitheatre entrance, tinted teal. Its purpose, Carissa could only guess. A lone microphone stood on the platform's edge. Sturdy walls surrounded the students congregated, who waited for the headmaster to appear.

_Maybe I should speak to—nevermind. _Carissa turned just in time to see the black-haired girl disappear, head buried over a book. She would prefer to make her presence known later, not when every sound garbled another.

More murmurs added to the discord when a new wave of students swept in. They commented under their breaths, most on whether who seemed most compatible in teams, or whose weapon looked the best, worst, or strangest. Free space remained, to see the front easier, and she took that chance to pass through rows of people, apologizing and giving "excuse me"s all the while. Now she could view the stage without standing on her tiptoes.

As if on cue, the headmaster appeared; Ozpin was a grey-haired man dressed in greens and grays with small, round glasses, supporting himself on a cane that had grooves designed across its surface. Glynda Goodwitch followed; it seemed she was most likely another teacher. Ozpin situated himself behind the microphone and cleared his throat, silencing the crowd. They waited as the headmaster pressed his glasses closer to his nose.

"I'll…keep this brief." Carissa clasped her hands before her and looked on. His eyes cut those who murmured beneath the stage. "You have traveled here today in search of knowledge—to hone your craft and acquire new skills, and when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people."

Carissa had seen the shadow of responsibility among every adult figure she knew, especially her parents. And being the upholder of her family, a weight now settled onto her back.

"But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose, direction." Ozpin continued.

Within her radius, people bristled at his words. Whispers filled with confusion or anger. She examined his face in search of any sign he meant every syllable of it. "Why are you saying this…?"

"_Wasted energy?_' someone hissed behind her, and she nearly turned, only stopped by the cramped space. She shook her head. Deflected a thought. _I came here…_

"You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that only knowledge only can carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step." He spoke matter-of-factly. Silence followed. It gave for Carissa space to ponder. His speech—if anyone considered it purposeful—neither encouraged or lowered them down. She wished she could ask his insight, anything, so she could interpret it better.

_He's the headmaster, and for the years he taught, everyone would trust him. _Considering that Beacon gave applications to those who seemed capable, held potential shown through tests. _Take the first step, and it will all fall into place. Is that what he means? Anyone needs knowledge to feel clear._

The silence reigning sobered her fantasies stiff when the headmaster limped away from the microphone and left through a hidden door.

Miss Goodwitch stepped forward and replaced him seamlessly. "You will gather in the ballroom tonight. Tomorrow, your initiation begins." She instructed as brisk as Ozpin's speech. "Be ready. You are dismissed."

The woman exited the stage as well, abandoning the students to their confusion.

"Is that all?" A disembodied voice murmured, and Carissa avoided straining her ears.

"...I suppose." Another replied, quietly and an octave higher than her peer. "Well, we need to find the teachers, do we?—Uh, there's another."

The uncertainty ended there, when another face went up the stage, a staff member poking at the microphone. Shrill, strong pings ricocheted. "You will be escorted to the lockers, where you will lock your gear and any other equipment. Then attend dinner in the mess hall, all seats unassigned. All sleeping bags must be used—if you don't have one, we'll provide." The staff member said, sweeping his eyes across the crowd. "Does anyone have a question?" No one raised a hand.

"Then we'll start the escorts! We'll start right to left—my left, your right." His voice rose. Carissa watched on for a while, before she glanced right to left herself, still alert to catch sight of a friend. Yang's enthusiasm resembled an enthusiastic neon sign with a few sparks, and her wordplay tended a nice laugh often.

_Keegan and Haley…_

The former used his height best when reaching a particularly high bookshelf, and Haley, she knew, enforced a promise they would try a search, forcibly when she needed to, not that Carissa agreed to her tactic. Just that this crowd swam. Of course, neither of them suspected to rely on old connections in a new place. They had to adapt and accept they were shedding down to take flight.

Carissa loosened her fists and shifted her feet. A turbulence stirred her insides sharp. _I'd like to—talk. Why? Should I shout? _She glanced around. _It'll be too little._

_There's time to chat. I'm a Beacon student now._

So she tapped a shoulder. On her left. Belonging to a fit girl whose crimson ponytail hair almost reached her waist. Taller by a precise two inches. She was somewhat dressed in bronze-colored armor that adorned her legs, chest, neck, and an armband on her left.

Vivid green eyes brighter than her own fell onto her own darker ones, the scarf wrapped around her waist swishing.

But Carissa focused on the conversation at hand. She dipped her head slightly. "Hello there."

"Hello." The girl replied easily. "How are you?"

"I'm doing better, thank you." _I'll try not to talk about weather. _

"Do you…know anyone around these parts?"

"Yes, I know three people who graduated in my class. Why?"

The redhead pursed her lips, seeming thoughtful. "Beacon attracts many applicants from all of the four kingdoms."

"Yes." Carissa adjusted her messenger bag strap by a bit. So she was a foreigner. "How is your experience in Vale?"

"It's okay!" she smiled, "I'm of Mistral." Carissa nodded in respect. "But I _have_ come here once in a while, for their tournaments."

Carissa nodded again, inwardly meek. "It was too judgmental for me to say that…I'm sorry, the line's long."

"Quite some time before we really do anything."

"Indeed."

"Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"You're friendly." She stated.

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome." Carissa clasped her hands in her front, drawing her right hand forward. "I never did ask your name a few minutes ago…my name is Carissa Aria."

"I'm Pyrrha Nikos." Her eyebrows knotted.

Carissa blinked, feeling their handshake. The redhead's hands were calloused in a way, suggesting a skilled close-combater. "It's an honor to be in your presence." then she corrected herself, noticing how a tired light overcame the redhead's eyes. "I've heard of the great things you accomplished. I'm only surprised that you're taking this role, too."

Pyrrha shook her head with a smile. "My reputation doesn't define me, Carissa. Yet…you do know things about me. Where are you from?"

"I graduated from Signal Academy, right in the city. As a Mistral native, you probably had a long trip."

"Yeah. You're not far from home! I was wondering," Pyrrha's eyes flickered somewhere, "are you ready for the initiation?"

Carissa clasped her hands before her. "Maybe I am, or not. It's _still_ up for debate." Pyrrha laughed. "How would it work? When are we going into groups?"

"Well—"

Pyrrha and Carissa turned to the source of shouting. It came from the staff member, his hands moving like a traffic officer. "It seems we're up next." Pyrrha said.

Carissa smiled, tiny compared to her peer. "And this is the first night."

* * *

Its floor as wide as its high ceiling, the ballroom's designs left Carissa absorbing it all quietly with fascination. Chandeliers illuminated the floor, giving it a mystical feel. All students followed Miss Goodwitch to pour in. "Find a spot for your sleeping bags before the lights dim." She'd said.

Carissa waited until the ballroom filled, then followed right in. For tonight, she wore a loose purple shirt and black pajama pants. Tucked under her right arm was a black duffel bag.

Everyone fanned out, and thuds of sleeping bags and bedrolls came while friends, new and old, congregated. Others chose to have their personal best views of the night by settling near the windows. The day had been warm, but the evening was mildly cool, aided with the parted windows.

_And somehow, I still can't find Keegan and—or—Haley. _Carissa drifted through, socked feet soundless on the ballroom floor. _Or Yang._

Certain the morning offered another attempt, she pursued sleep. She navigated between the gaps of a few sleepers, bags, and objects in search of the room's center. While she felt secure now, she had her doubts that the reputation of the school would discourage the villainous to knock on their door, if they were confident with their abilities.

Once she found a clear space, she knelt down and unrolled her sleeping bag. From her bag she took out a pillow and a black blanket. _So many people in one room._ But no one snored harsh here, or if they were—too distant to distract.

She sat down, knees hugged to her chest, watching the chandeliers dim to the point she could see figures of the rowdier students parading the ballroom and start small-talk above the slumber. Arranging her own bag so her head faced the entrance, she rolled down, eyes staring up at the chandeliers. She imagined they were starlight as she thought.

The initiation came in less than twenty-four hours.

_What are the common rules in Beacon? If there are outings, when's the curfew? Fieldwork? Names turned to people? _Excitement grew. She wasn't an exact stickler to rules, but she avoided trouble, accident or not. She shifted her hair and flourished the blanket over her legs. Through peripheral vision, she saw more forms move within her sight, until everyone but a few laid on the floor.

No doubt the initiation would be rigorous—_thinking ahead, four years later I'll understand how it's a cakewalk_—since she had heard news of injuries and almost-deaths of Beacon attendees. Before the course began, she wanted to refresh from the stress.

She shut her eyes, pulling the blanket to the tip of her chin. Drowsiness overtaking her, she dragged the pillow and tilted her chin to it. Minutes later, she went off.

* * *

A pitter-patter of noises nearby jarred Carissa awake.

Snapping open an eyelid, she raked it across the ballroom, shifted in the bag for a sign of movement. She caught sight of a girl, dressed in a baggy blue sweatshirt and shorts, kneeling on the floor a few bodies away, picking at the ground and dropping things inside a small bag, their clicks muffled through the pouch. Fortunately, no one else had awakened. Not even a teacher arrived, so she could investigate freely.

Flipping off the covers, Carissa sat up while rubbing her eyes, stuffed her feet into a pair of her slippers and stepped over bodies, the floor cool underneath, to reach the girl.

Carissa had a dozen thoughts running through her mind, taking time to place each foot out of the way of a stray limb or two, especially hair and bags. Feeling drained didn't excuse the intrigue tugging her through this.

She picked out the girl's indigo hair pulled up in a rough, shoulder-touching ponytail, a widow's peak, and two side bangs that reached her chin. A pair of wire-rimmed glasses shined, pushed on her light forehead. Her form hunched in her search, so she showed no notice of her approach.

Carissa swallowed, throat dry from sleep. "Hello?" she whispered.

The girl's head jerked up to meet her, dark eyes alert, looking guilty. "...G-good evening."

"What are you doing?" she asked, cautious.

The girl grimaced. "I'm picking up my, uh, marble collection." To prove her point, she plucked up a small orb, a ghostly white tinged blue with a black core. Carissa knelt down, scanning the little crescents outlined by the moonlight. _Oh_.

She watched the girl dropped it into her bag, a small pouch stamped with a dot over three rings of circles, as if it resembled the resonance of a dewdrop. "Has anyone else woken up?"

Carissa stilled her breath. The evening was pitch black outside and the moon hung overhead. It gave her a dim outline of the chandeliers, sensibly turned off by some energy-conscientious people. Not a sign there was anyone creeping around at the peak of midnight. "I doubt it." She said at last.

"That's good to know. Thanks." The dark-haired girl nodded.

Both of them fell silent, before the girl returned her attention to the remaining scattered marbles. Carissa kneeled beside her, collecting the rest carefully into the pouch. The girl handled them like shattering one was consequential.

"This is an awful moment, but…" the girl sounded tentative. "Can I ask you something?"

Carissa blinked. "At this time, I'm available for any question." _And you seem restless._

"It's open-ended." The girl raised one of her marbles skywards to examine.

"And there will be an open-ended response." She replied.

"You've had me there. Well then…how do you suppose the initiation will begin?"

One by one, the marbles in Carissa's hands clicked at their short landing while she thought, watching the dark-haired girl tighten the pouch with the knots, dropping it into a duffel bag of her own. Somehow this was the piece that allowed her to vent. But to speak at dusk, she barely held her thoughts intact. Inwardly, she drew a breath. _Why not? It must be the lack of sleep. Hours until challenges break loose._

"Beacon is one of the schools who develop Hunters to protect the people and world." She started, beginning to guess along. "Fighting is a facet. The initiation will test our performance." _And cooperation, too, maybe. _Another afterthought rose through her muddled mind, so she added, "Everything is going to be more on the field, the studies, theory, and whatnot." A summary of her years.

"And explosions."

Carissa blinked harder, either out of sleep or the comment, and then nodded. The dark-haired girl smiled slightly.

"There'll be always explosions, in such a school, I suppose." The girl admitted, seeming sheepish. "I might be responsible for several of those."

_I've had my fair amount of experience._

"I'll keep that in mind." Carissa chose to say. "Why?"

In response, the girl had shuffled through another bag, containing more than a dozen bottled, translucent containers an arm's length long. Each contained what appeared to be blueprints. Carissa respectfully averted her gaze, leveling them on blue eyes instead.

"Inventor. Sort of—part time." The dark-haired girl replied, point-blank.

"Explosions. Usually?"

They exchanged mutual smiles of knowledge.

"With these arrangements, I think we're getting a puzzle. Everything will be answered tomorrow." The girl whispered, removing the glasses and putting it over her bag and releasing her hair to fall over her back. "Thank you for helping me."

"You're welcome." Carissa said. Maybe, before the big day, she could ask for the girl's name. But her plan dropped when both of them heard clicking heels, faraway, staccato and alert. "I'm going back."

"I see…good luck, then. About tomorrow."

Carissa turned back around. "Ditto." She managed idly. Then, quietly, she paced herself between gaps of sleeping bags. She was already draping the blanket over her just as the doors swung open.

By the time Miss Goodwitch set foot into the ballroom, silence had returned.

* * *

**This is my second attempt at writing a story for OCs - my first was 'Miracles of Ancient Wonder'. RWBY gives a lot of ideas for what happens in the world, even outside the real plot! Fanfic appreciation for it all.**

**Writer's block can stack on another writer's bloc****k, from what I had last time -_-" but this is written with a better understanding in what will happen. **** I will do my best writing the story.**

**I'm following these rules: I will not interfere with the canon characters, but fill in the gaps between what could have happened outside the main characters. Most importantly, I will keep track of the main characters' progress throughout the story, so I won't confuse anyone!****This story has no update pattern too, and I write bad, so apologies in advance.**

**Criticism and advice is appreciated!**

**Sincerely, Pianist707**

**8/2/14 - I edited and revised some parts.**


	2. Chapter 2

**(Posted on 8/16/14)**

**Disclaimer: Monty Oum of Roosterteeth created the world of RWBY. My OCs inhabit it.**

* * *

**Chapter Two: Initiating an Initiation**

_Carissa Aria, Third-Person PoV_

Carissa awakened on her backside to the sun striking her face.

She rose unhampered, stretching her limbs high and muffled a yawn with a hard few blinks. The sleep, no matter its amount, reinvigorated her to perform—survive the initiation. Through drowsy energy she passed her gaze across the ballroom.

The sun almost graced the edge of the trees' canopies, its rays beamed onto the window panes in clear segments. Around the sea of sleeping bags, a few dozen urged themselves up, some trying to assist their peers, while others seemed to spring, full of superhuman enthusiasm. She admired that latter trait a bit, watching one girl burst around one occupied sleeping mat.

Efficiency reminded that she had to prepare, and so she shimmied off the blanket and folded it into a rectangle, rolling it, the sleeping bag included. She stuffed the roll inside her duffel bag with care. _So no more temptation. _Then she stood up, passing a hand through her light brown hair.

Carissa lifted her duffel bag, resting it on her right shoulder, shutting her eyes briefly. The next minutes that would follow harbored no quietude of the present time, and she understood when to savor it, before her thoughts clamored full of strategies and perspectives.

Mentally she marked a list of her desires, a thick hardcover chief among them.

Her scan of the ballroom dampened her spirits when she found that the girl from the night before—marbles, blueprints and all—wasn't awake. _If I'd asked her name, we would've been caught by Miss Goodwitch anyway…_

She thought of metal percussion, folded and beat to clang and sing, and envisioned bracing herself against an undistinguished Grim that rushed towards her. Its red eyes kept her wary.

"I'm relieved to see early risers."

Miss Goodwitch announced her presence by the click of her heels, voice resonating closer as she arrived at the ballroom entrance. All mutterings ceased, and any head that bobbed swiveled to meet the teacher's.

Carissa mimed suit, noting how Miss Goodwitch looked well-put while it was only sunrise: dressed like yesterday, neat and ready. A working scroll occupied her hands. "This is your agenda before the initiation, everyone. You will head to the washrooms, where after you eat breakfast in the dining hall, then equip yourselves at the lockers." Her chartreuse eyes narrowed. "Are there any questions?"

Carissa popped up a hand. Haley would have made her wag it if she was awake.

"Yes?"

"Miss Goodwitch, where do we go after?"

"More instructions will be announced." Came the response, the teacher's tone terse. Carissa sunk her hand. "Follow me; the others can wake up later."

Students hurried to pack. Carissa weaved through the bodies, intent on an early start, and stopped in a line which formed behind Miss Goodwitch, others ending behind her. Said teacher collapsed her scroll to watch them all.

Without a prompt, she fell into a walk, and they followed. That was when Carissa noticed the line of static-induced hair before her. _Should I point that out, or…?_

Carissa tentatively unzipped her duffel bag and produced a comb. "Excuse me…" she began.

* * *

The washroom brimmed of running water, humid air, and a deafening silence. Either it told that introspection was welcome, or as Carissa practiced her hygiene, the majority of everyone within still wanted their heads resting on pillows. Teeth were rinsed and faces were washed, dampening the floors slightly. But she took little time.

She selected the farthest shower for privacy she never took for granted, stunning herself alert under the coldest settings for minutes. Wrapped in a gray towel she exited, entering a separate stall in continuum, and set to work with a hair dryer, a courtesy of Pyrrha Nikos. She had no intentions to linger on her nerves, when she could check on her equipment first—that was one of the ideas she knew what to do at the moment.

_Okay._ After an effective blast, Carissa arranged her attire on an adjacent shelf, hair dryer included, setting aside the duffel bag on a rack. With one hand clamped on her towel, she dressed into her undergarments. Next, an undershirt, followed by gray pants, cinched with a black belt, on which she added a pair of belt clips to each hip that would hold her weapons together. She buttoned up a white collared, long-sleeved shirt that fell below the waist, ends loose. At last she topped over the shirt an olive green vest with silver edges, and buckled on a knee-length pair of black boots. The gray coat went on.

She combed her hair to part it towards her left as she evaluated her appearance in the mirror while standing back. Deigning it satisfactory, she was packing when someone rapped on the stall door. She immediately stopped.

"Are you finished?" Pyrrha called from the other side.

"Yes, I'm leaving now." Carissa replied, tightening the buckles on her calves before she grabbed the duffel bag. She stood and unlocked the door by nudging it open with her foot, meeting Pyrrha halfway. The taller girl wore a crimson towel and a bag hung over a shoulder, ornamented with bronze, clinking of armor.

Carissa produced the hair dryer and turned it over to her. "Pyrrha?"

"Yes, Carissa?"

"A thought occurred to me—is it alright if I—"

"Why not? I'll listen."

"Oh, thank you. It seems that there may be others like you." _Champions who dominate their fields and enter Beacon to make progress._ "Knowing how your skills are put toward the same agenda, it's…" she nodded. _'Sweet' can't define it._

Pyrrha smiled. "We aren't the only ones doing it, you know." She seemed ready to continue, but her attention caught onto something below. Her towel slid a pinch, and she gulped. "Are you…"

"I must be delaying you. I'm sorry, Pyrrha." Carissa sidestepped past the girl.

Pyrrha entered in, grateful, but then she swiveled to face her. "Thank you—but you're right! Go."

"Good luck!" Carissa called as the girl disappeared behind the door, its lock clicking shut. If there had been time, she would have launched into a debate until her stomach panged. She rounded off and out the washroom, pushing through. She followed a familiar path until minutes later, she reached the dining hall doors.

And exhaled. Deeply.

_This is ten times larger than Signal._ Students, their attire, lights, and the lunchroom gave her senses an onslaught, another wakeup call. It evoked all the more her wonder to enter all Beacon's floors, territory, and of course, whatever else it provided. Professor Ozpin had shown how well equipped his school was to roll out a challenge with diverse, many applicants.

Her mind raced while she entered the buffet line, taking a sleek tray and plate. Lathered onto it came pancakes, a side of scrambled eggs, a milk carton, and a ripe apple. As she left the line, she turned to brace herself.

In the table rows, everyone was scattered, and housed sparse seats anywhere. Keeping a grip on her tray, she stepped into the throng as if she would in a minesweep, feeling eyes on the back of her head as she turned corners. _How did they dress up this fast?_

She spotted an empty table, near the northwest corner of the lunchroom and flanked by windows. She accelerated her stride, tray held high, and darted into the side of one of the seats, that her food almost went askew and her hair tilt dangerously to an angle, earning a few stares. _I forgot my utensils._ Came the thought after examining the tray set on the table. She bounced from her seat and whirled…

….and met light blue eyes of a girl staring back at her. A crooked scar was over her left eye and her white hair was aligned asymmetrically to the right.

They held the stare with hesitance until Carissa pushed her chair, making it screech. "Good morning." She said blankly.

The girl smiled small, the black pendulum on her neck swinging. "Can I sit here, please?"

"Certainly." At this, the white-haired girl and her tray swept down. Before Carissa could head to the buffet, the girl's brows furrowed, its scrutiny making Carissa avert her eyes. "I'm only—"

"I have a spare fork." The girl said, the frown gone. "Here." She stood up and dropped the utensil at a height that didn't spread the food or soak her sleeves into the syrup of the pancakes.

"Thank you." Carissa said in relief. She pulled out her seat quietly and sat, working on her breakfast. Every pancake was savored, the apple was bit down to the core, and no drop of milk was wasted. _No risk of hunger._

Across, the white-haired girl was spooning into a sauce, her tray's contents already half away, sleeves up to her elbows. Carissa had the benefit of the doubt that her elegant clothing personified the phrase, "Steel under silk," seeing as people she knew would declare—even thought—she was a waiter or masquerading as a young mercenary. _A tree covered in soot, too._

Carissa watched the slight tremor in the way the girl handled her spoon, and channeled her concern. "How are you?" She received a frown in response. "You seem distressed."

"Fine. I just," the white-haired girl looked up and set down her spoon, "I was wondering, have you heard about teams?"

Carissa clasped her hands on her lap, thinking. "There was little talk about their placement…I believe they're permanent."

"Time will tell." The girl sighed. "Thank you." For a split second, Carissa thought the girl traced her scar.

"What worries you?" she asked politely.

"The teams and the initiation. There's also this boy who won't get off my back." The girl shook her head, her earrings swinging. She ate the last of her salad.

Carissa nodded steadily. "Huntsmen and Huntresses are expected to do a lot of things. Cooperation is probably one of them."

"How do you know that?"

"Back from my…household."

"Oh, so it's your family's business?"

"More of…" Carissa bit her lip. "…free will."

The frown was back on, if only for a few seconds, an insight. Then the white-haired girl shook her head. Her hands flew to her tray. "I suppose we'll just try to prove ourselves when we start! I'm nervous." She blurted.

"That's natural, as when all first years—"

"First years," Miss Goodwitch's voice traveled down the lunchroom, a clarion. "I'm confident that all of you will find your way to the weapons locker."

Carissa threw in the rest of her phrase. "—do a field test, everyone's bound to be nervous."

"Tardiness will not be accepted." _Sharpness is mandatory._

"Maybe." The girl stared at her unfinished serving, but picked it up. "But we should go to the lockers, just as Miss Goodwitch said. It was nice, eating with you." When Carissa lacked a response, the girl left with a flick of her ponytail and strode towards a trash can.

On the back of her bolero jacket, there it was; a snowflake sigil on its back. The same emblem stamped on the box that Carissa received Dust twice a year, filled with her preferences.

_Weiss Schnee. Live goes on. _ Carissa blinked the shock away. There would be more renowned names walking the halls for sure. Carissa plucked her empty tray and stopped behind the heiress towards the garbage line. _Beacon is really something…_

* * *

Carissa stepped into the locker room, a sole number embedded in her mind. Incresing her pace, she trailed parallel along the rows of steel doors lined against walls and at a standstill, desolate of a cluttering clarion when others retrieved their weapons. The compact, handy lethal things in trained hands.

She chose another aisle and followed the ascending numbers, stopping at _707_. Pulling it open, her eyes perused the pile she had stacked as neatly as she could.

Finding it untampered, she reached forward and took out dual, nondescript gray scabbards holding her blades, Sylph Catalyst, and set them on the opposite bench. Further in was a survival kit she had assembled hastily a week before—it contained pouches to keep its contents from jarring, a thumb-sized flint, one pair of socks, and roll of binding used for the hilt of her swords. She exchanged her duffel bag for the messenger bag, adding the survival kit to the latter as she shut the locker with her elbow.

Sylph Catalyst had been with Carissa since she forced it at Signal Academy, and her ambidexterity made her two-sword technique practically supported. Its metal of both blades were folded ten times to immeasurable durability, and she was glad for the nights she spent pounding away the design. She trusted her fluency to wield it as much as she maintained a poker face in a staring contest.

Carissa unsheathed, Sylph, one to inspect any damage. The blades had a light green hue to them, but too dull to shine, with a sleek silver cross guard that had its ends angled up. The hilt was made of dark green steel wrapped in inextirpable transparent binding, double-helix style, and each pommel had an empty slot to insert a Dust cartridge or crystal if she chose.

Sylph and Catalyst were fraternal blades. Sylph was the longer and wider of the two, with a one-sided curve from the tip, and a pin-sized hole at the start of the blade. When she swung, it whistled a tuning note. Catalyst was shorter and narrower, with a barbed edge that would lock enemies in a successful grapple.

Sylph Catalyst's second form would be triggered by both hilts, and for that, she would review later. Slyph was unsheathed and slid into her left clip and Catalyst on her right hip, tightening the ties.

_Practice for the initiation…_

Carissa stretched her arms out, fingers pointing to the ground and splayed thin. She unsheathed Sylph from her right hand, vice versa with Catalyst in one fluid motion, adjusting to the familiar feel before she attempted one of her stances, the high ward.

She pivoted her right foot back, raising her right arm and angling the tip Sylph's blade downwards while she kept her left foot to the front, Catalyst pointed loosely from her left hip. It clicked. So when she fell into it, she had a chance of stabbing her opponent without movement.

Out her messenger bag came two Dust cartridges, which she slid the slots into each pommel, snapping them in place. She sheathed Sylph Catalyst and cast a final look around the locker room. She needed the composure to begin. _Walking to Beacon Cliff might clear my doubts. _She reassured herself quietly by sitting down.

"Whoops!"

A consecutive round of crashing metal jolted Carissa to track its source, out of weariness. The aisle behind her had produced the noise, and a gasp and apologies followed it.

"Please be careful with these." A girl said, her voice so silent like she never spoke. "You nearly stopped my heart right there."

"Sorry!" A boy replied, louder in comparison as he shuffled up the clatter—weapons, Carissa identified the tell-tale chinks. "But really—twelve."

"I can handle this."

"Let me—" there was another crash. "Yeah, maybe you should do that, it's slippery."

"They're boomerangs."

"And check my bars—they aren't ordinary." The girl 'oh'ed on the other end.

Carissa rose gingerly. Here she was, in midst of eavesdropping. She timed her steps as she passed through the door.

"How are they…sharp?" _Shiunk. _"Wow."

"What about your boomerangs, hm? Is there a mechanism for them?"

"Yes. But I'm not sure if I should show you…"

"You're going to have to enlighten me on that…"

Carissa exited out of the entrance as slow as sweet molasses—she didn't want to risk any missed details—and burst into a sprint. The gears of her brain turned smooth in tandem as she rebounded through the hall. There would be teams. Time.

Her worries doubled, and for this morning, it was nothing about the initiation. She wanted to progress today and past that, but not without a valuable impression just to show she wanted a better world.

Carissa diminished her steps and swallowed at the exit. _Am I prepared for school? An extraordinary school for extraordinary people._ For now…that would be her problem.

* * *

**"Hello again!" -Pyrrha Nikos**

**Just as she says! While I'm following an OC-driven plot, they aren't living in a bubble. Just that, second reminder, OCs won't mess with the plotline. **

**Chapters 1-4 are revised from 'Miracles of Ancient Wonder'. I know the OCs well enough that what ever they do is set.**

**Anyway for heads up, I'll try and make every fight scene realistic, when they happen! But how is my writing so far? Where do you think the story's heading? Once weapons get used, I can take advice if I need to research more, and in further advance, thanks.**

**Constructive criticism and reviews are appreciated! I hope I can tie up some holes with anyone's input.**

**Sincerely, Pianist707**

**P.S. - Carissa means in some languages "beloved", or "embrace" in Italian. Aria is a solo piece done by opera singers and instrumental accompaniment, and also in Italian, deriving to the Latin word _aer_ as "air". It's not a color, but I felt that the teams don't have to derive from color terms all the time. -_- But ideas sprout, so.**

**Another note is that I have three teams in mind, and Carissa's part of an all-girl team, not to imitate Team RWBY, but the people who form it happen to be girls. *flails at title* **

**The title is a reference to a piece called "The Lark Ascending" Ralph Vaughan Williams. That is all! Bye.**

**(Painting the Town was absolutely fantastic.)**


	3. Chapter 3

**(Posted on 9/2/14) **

**Disclaimer: Monty Oum of Roosterteeth created the world of RWBY. My OCs live it.**

* * *

**The Ascending Lark**

**Chapter Three: Doors**

_Carissa Aria, Third-Person PoV_

"For years," Professor Ozpin said, "you have trained to become warriors, and today, your abilities will be evaluated in the Emerald Forest."

Here in Beacon Cliff, Carissa stood on a hollow platform of the academy's insignia, two battleaxes crossed above a laurel wreath, hanging on to every word the headmaster spoke. Below and behind him and Miss Goodwitch, canopies of trees swathed most of the forest in green. There were plains in patches and the mountains as its backdrop.

Absorbing the full expanse of the testing grounds, Carissa branched her thoughts as if she watched from the sidelines, as if she was the spectator and not a participant. Through her peripheral vision, the others flanking her remained silent to the level she kept her expression neutral, albeit for some few.

She'd arrived early and ended up leftmost, where a few familiar faces came up within the time all first years lined the row of platforms. The girl with the black bow stopped spaces away, and by perceiving the tones of the remainder farther behind, she identified the boy from the lockers, who seemed in a debate with a near-silent girl on the receiving end.

The weapons each student kept on their person varied through greatswords and handaxes, and the more advanced were a familiar sight, coming from her former academy. Most of which she believed were also guns.

_Everyone goes ballistic! _That was what Yang would say. Carissa agreed on a smaller scale.

Miss Goodwitch faced the students. "Now, I'm sure many of you have heard rumors about the assignment of teams." _Yes._ "Well, allow us to put an end to your confusion. Each of you will be given teammates…today." Assessing the rows, the teacher's response got a couple of groans.

Professor Ozpin continued, persevering despite the mixed looks. "These teammates will be with you for the rest of your time here at Beacon. So it is in your best interest to be paired with someone with whom you can work well." He then added, "That being said, the first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the _next_ four years."

"_What?"_ A girl far apart exclaimed. _Sounds familiar. _Carissa blinked, but reinforced her attention on Professor Ozpin. Whatever vanished anxiety within her grew once more. One stare—many chances.

"After you've partnered up, make your way to the northern end of the forest. You will meet opposition along the way. Do not hesitate to destroy anything in your path, or you _will _die."

"We just came here." The boomerang girl mumbled.

_I'll operate on stealth first. _Under those canopies brimming of Grim and environmental hazards she looked at the forest depth harder, her perspective swapping. A theory surfaced as she glanced down to eye her feet on top of the platform. _I understand…maybe._

"You will be monitored and graded during the duration of your initiation, but our instructors will not intervene. You will find an abandoned temple at the end of the path containing several relics. Each pair must choose one and return to the top of the cliff." Carissa almost smiled. This was a realistic non-mission. "You will guard that item, as well as your standing, and grade you appropriately. Are there any questions?"

Carissa kept her lips sealed, a breeze playing with the single vent on her coat to flutter. The Emerald Forest spread towards the mountains, so finding a partner or a foe was vastly in between the distance she would take towards the relics. Her sigh came out light. _The objective isn't the Grim._ For her own welfare, she would prevent a brief demise. _I haven't encountered some in a while._

"Yeah." A hesitant voice of a boy came from the right. "Um, sir—"

"Good! Take your positions." Professor Ozpin instructed, cutting him off. Carissa unsheathed Sylph from her left hip and settled into the high ward, checking the sword's Dust slot as others drew out their weapons.

And waited. Beacon never seemed as young as Signal. _Was it a castle before a school? _ She dismissed the headmaster's offhanded phrases feeding the guy. The latter's confusion only grew alongside his questions.

A white streak—Weiss Schnee of the Schnee Dust Corporation—shot skywards from her platform-springboard. That made her thoughts correct and collect.

Classmates and potential partners took to the sky. _Landing strategy? _Now she was concerned.

Then Carissa heard mechanisms spur alive underneath. Placing extra weight on her rear foot, she gripped Sylph tighter, and then aimed her left arm like a cursor.

In a split second she was airborne.

* * *

Streaking through the air and expecting a time when gravity would claim a grip, the gusts on Beacon Cliff were sparse zephyrs to the clarion in Carissa's ears. She kept her gaze forward. Leaned into it. And when she saw branches and individual leaves, she would blow her way to the earth and leave the site in a dash while adrenaline pumped her on.

_Death is everywhere._ Carissa noted this inevitable fact, her straight arm wavering against the headwind. Her mouth stayed closed, a bit apprehensive of little things that could get caught inside, and her glare offered little view. The grip on Sylph tightened until every twist and turn in its binding felt taut on her palm.

These moments lasted as needed, prescribed seconds.

_Hesitate, and splat._ Carissa found herself staring at an upcoming branch of green spades. Shock coursed through her. _Now—_

She swung, falling back full momentum in counter-clockwise.

Already her being told her that out Sylph expelled, with her, a whirl of silver and green wide tinsel streaks which revolved large and loud, the pinhole at the beginning of the blade whistling through the sky. The manipulated air currents rustled up a chorus of trees, going and stopping when her boots tapped onto ground?

Carissa dispelled her wind quickly, and the Dust-powered cyclone swathing her sight wisped gone. She inhaled, remastering the emotions with the flight and descent.

A second later she broke into a furious dash through the clearing she'd landed in, weaving past natural paths akin to her first sleepover at Beacon's. Within ten seconds she sheathed Sylph and jerked left.

In an erratic display of stealth, she took routes, doubled back, or even jolted to a halt for everlasting long intervals.

One hour after, Carissa tripped on a grassy, flat surface, rolling towards a new copse of trees in a clearing with dotty positions. _Breathless. _Her ears caught gunfire and all noises inhumane. Closing her eyes, she pictured her dash to estimate where she stood, aware how important the initiation's objectives were, and a partner was needed. _Is this enough to muffle my shout for help? _Not that she required attention. Efficiency supported lives and sanity, which it performed now to her. _Four years._

"Relics." She whispered in a dry voice, and wheezed. One call would alert everything that killed within the trees and undergrowth. _I know my progress is going to be undone in one, two…_

Pivoting on her right foot and steering with the other, she exclaimed, "Hello?" The gunfire died, but battles still traded in her ear. She sighed. "Is anyone, who needs a partner, out there?"

A bunch of shrubs rustled at the front, and Sylph eased out its scabbard. Carissa contemplated a counter as her right hand hovered above Catalyst, her form adopting a mid-crouch.

She kicked around, both swords sliding into a cross to brace against a Beowolf. A mangy, black enormity of red eyes and red-laced protuding bones. Its claw caught onto the corners of the block. She flicked it into a thin 'X', her boots plowing the ground, absorbing the impact.

With a large shove, she scored horizontal slashes across its chest to disengage it further. Then she lunged, falling into a split step, executing a backhand decapitation in one fluid motion.

Carissa returned to the high ward. The volume of the approaching roars dwindled her hopes of flight. _Time to scrap the stealth._ She sheathed Catalyst—two swords proved faulty for multiple enemies, especially for Grim, initiation or not—and listened.

Five Beowolves stalked out the trees, and from the surface of her blade, she saw two Ursi leave undergrowth as well. Her footsteps led east, newly hesitant.

They charged. She twirled her sword in a figure eight, pouring energy into the final loop, just as the ground shuddered, strongly coming beneath the Grim. _Is this Vale's earthquake outlier—?_

Sylph whistled, green-hued and alglow, and five columns of jagged stones pierced into four Beowolves and an Ursa's chest, slaying them in their steps. Out the blade escaped a shockwave, knocking the final Beowolf into trees. Carissa's time stopped for a split second.

She cut off her own bafflement and lunged at the Ursa. She somersaulted onto its hide and rendered it dead, vaulting off with a gale for equal measure. Approaching the rising Beowolf, she jumped away from a strike and bisected at the abdomen.

Carissa examined the numbers, retreating from the bodies. _These are part of a small pack. _

Outside the clearing perimeter, the Grim's noises persisted. It was certain to be the person who'd helped her was in the midst of another battle. _Find them. Help them._ She traced the source and sprinted, no longer minding she pushed through branches and shrubs. Just the rumbling drew her out.

As she shortened the distance towards the commotion, the tremors strengthened and monsters' cries rose in volume. Through the trees and bushes she saw sunlight, then a _boulder_ bury itself on her right, showering dust. She planted a foot, skidding to halt at the edge of another clearing, devoid of trees by swaying grasses, where fog of dust hung over like the exterior of a sandstorm. Craters littered all around. Reminded her of the moon.l

Bursting out was a figure flipping into view, their medium-length weapon flying in an arch, and the crunching ceased. Carissa raised Sylph Catalyst, surveying the area.

The fog dispersed, abrupt to reveal several Grim flailing in quicksand through dusty film. The person spun their weapon overhead, and the ground beneath them and charging Grim revolved, spinning the latter off balance, leaving them open to precise, ending blows.

Still, half a dozen Beowolves and four Ursi cornered the person—female, she realized as their steps brought them closer to her eyes—snarls breaking the forest calm. _Follow your nose, that's how they tracked her? _Carissa's strides were deliberate, going through the clearing. At last the dust lifted.

A dark brunette with straight hair faced them, backed near a tree base. Under a hip-length maroon shawl, she wore a white collared shirt with sleeves cuffed to the forearms, two black wristbands, a beige pleated skirt, and a pair of black, ankle-length boots. Her right eye was almost obscured by a curtain of her hair, pinned back by a yellow clip.

In her right hand, a stave pointed at the monsters, silver segments along its body to shaft and three golden spearheads bent inwards like a claw.

Carissa focused on how the Grim spread in a sloppy 'U' and targeted a chain of attacks to reach the dark brunette, who then flicked up four earth masses, somehow compressing them into jagged points in levitation without falter.

A few Beowolves stepped forward. Carissa entered the fray, Sylph hissing and Catalyst poising.

She stomped onto an Ursa's back and dug in Catalyst, removing and sheathing it as she flipped over two Beowolves, throwing wide gales in mid-air with Sylph. They slammed down, growing still.

"Thanks!"

Carissa rounded on a Major Ursa, but a stalagmite crown killed it. "And you!" she answered, sliding in place on the girl's left. She deftly pulled out a fresh Dust cartridge from her messenger bag and tossed it at Sylph's hilt, locking it once it fell in. "Would you like to handle half?" she motioned towards the remaining six.

"Of course! This finishes quickly if we split. Say," The girl seemed to pause, tilting her neck at her and not meeting her eyes, "I'll back you up."

Carissa nodded. The four Beowolves and two Ursa started on them. Her head pounded, sharp and turbulent. She chose one Ursa and two Beowolves flanking nearby, and lunged, swinging a shockwave before she somersaulted over their heads in a vertical slash. Landing on ground, she completed a spin, crouching as the Ursa lashed dangerously at her head. Following it was a series of thrusts.

The Ursa cracked down, and the battle sounds were replaced by a relieved sigh, not by her.

Carissa turned around, and blinked at the dark brunette's surroundings. While terrakinesis had shown superb technique, the dissolved soil that tidied up the craters and uprooted grass indicated she'd met someone of tempered skill. The impaled Grim showed too, the points directly set on their bone-capped heads. _It must be exhausting for them. _Sylph was put away, and she walked towards the girl, adrenaline and heartbeat diminishing naturally. _Does this make us partners? _

But the girl whirled around, hazel eyes directed at her own. "Hey." She greeted, all smiles, seemingly already comfortable by her presence. An understatement if Carissa acknowledged the Grim lurking the forest.

"Hello," Carissa replied, nodding politely. _You were awesome. Quick. _

"So, eye contact has stamped us as partners for four years! I'm Lorelei Lance." The dark brunette made her stave fold into a compact wand by a trigger to hook on her left hip. "And you're…?"

"Carissa Aria." She nodded at no place in particular. "Where to?"

* * *

Both of them kept a leisure pace after Lorelei pinpointed north, both ready at arms, exchanging bits of themselves to end the silence, yet enough to keep their focus at half. The dark brunette lived in Vale, but her homeland was an ocean apart, and she declared its regions had helped her hone her semblance to its current state, although she admitted, with a shrug, her family had denied her entrance into Beacon the moment she spoke it out loud.

"How do you think they feel, now that you came here?" Carissa inquired, making appropriate eye contact whenever necessary. The headwind from the clearing had flipped, so now her hair blew into her face. She went on before some strands blotted her eyes. "You possess qualities for a Huntress, and even controlled the field in turn against those Grim."

"I guess I do have some, Carissa, but my family didn't think the same. It sure took negotiation to where I'm here." Lorelei pushed away branches of a bush, where they stepped under and away. "I feel I'm doing the right thing so far."

_So far?_ "Why that feeling?"

"It hasn't been there for a long time. How about you? This career's tough."

"Oh." She sighed. "I'm here in the name of my family."

"Same." Lorelei squinted ahead. "Kind of."

"It isn't the sole reason of why I chose to learn how to become a Huntress." Carissa reassured her. "This 'business' dates past of more than five generations, as it dominates all the other work we managed. I'm just…okay with it."

"It _is_ okay if you want to protect the people of Remnant." Lorelei remarked. Carissa muffled a soundless laugh. Her switch from the thick topic worked. "Pretty much the reason Huntsmen and Huntresses exist."

They slowed down, seeing that the forest gave in to a field of grass that reached taller than their waists. "Hard part." The dark brunette said over her shoulder.

"May I go here? I can find a safe path." Carissa supplied. The height of the stalks were tall for a mature King Taijitu's seclusion.

"Of course."

Carissa held out Sylph Catalyst overhead. "Thank you. Please stay behind me, and take a step when I do." _That's blatant._

"Yes."

She shook off that awkward leading feeling away, and used her blades to part the grass, slid her right in, continuing to do so as Lorelei tagged after.

It went similar to her first hour dash, only at a miniscule distance. For a few feet, she compensated with her feet and touch of her boots. They prodded away twigs, branches, making the littlest twitch until they left the grass.

Both Carissa and Lorelei had walked for a full minute of ease when gunfire exploded far from their position. Her steps tightened, just as Lorelei whipped out her stave.

"That came from there." Carissa noted, right sword pointing up at a fleeing flock of birds, left hand sheathing Catalyst across her right hip.

"They really are ahead of us—" Lorelei fell quiet when one roar dominated the rest, distant as the commotion. Her hazel eyes narrowed.

"Did you name your weapon?" Carissa blurted. "I refer to the design."

Lorelei shrugged. "It's the norm, so…Golden Falcon."

"Sylph. Catalyst."

"Randomness aside, we've got to check that out."

They found themselves reach a steep incline, hiked their weapons up, and descended while the howls increased and grew frenzied. "They must have left after such a scene. Beowolves are fast, though."

"Depending on the situation." Lorelei said matter-of-factly. "We'll provide them a distraction. Come on." They slurred into a sprint, sheathing their weapons and blazing down, certain not to make loud noise.

Carissa glanced up, feeling near, seeing with dismay an unusual sight in the forest: the cloudy sky being marred by smoky plumes wafting strong, accompanied by the Beowolves' roars. "Lorelei. I see smoke."

"Who in the right mind _would_ use fire in a forest?" Lorelei exclaimed, voicing Carissa's own thoughts. "As it spreads, it'll rile up any Grim around."

Carissa glanced at the dark brunette, catching a new furrow in her brow. "Do you prefer to investigate this?"

"Yeah—and put out the fire." Lorelei said, frowning. _It must have been a missed target. Or—no, Keegan is always careful._

They stared beyond quietly. Carissa dwelled into the lack of conversation. With Lorelei Lance joined by her side, she juggled what had been their latest experiences until the signs in her mind presented what she felt was to be a long-standing, reliable friendship. An obvious vague judgment. She dared to hope so. Their tracks were set now, alongside time and space to fret over what seemed to be at a bonfire stage.

Lorelei was still looking straight ahead, but now had Golden Falcon out, making the three-point top unfurl or retract. She decided to act. "With earth and air, we're both capable to handle it." She said, certain the dark brunette shared a similar viewpoint.

She sidestepped as Lorelei whirled to avoid a stinging mouthful of hair. "Sorry. Do you think you're up for it?" she seemed pumped.

Carissa nodded, unsheathing Catalyst. "I believe we can."

"Then it's time to work!"

* * *

**Action scenes are new ground for me. How did it go? If anyone who's had their fair share of writing battles or anything other, I'm free for constructive criticism or a review!**

**For people who probably read 'Miracles of Ancient Wonder' once before, and know how these first chapters occur in a similar fashion, it's because I'm revising them. I know what my characters are going to do next, but I will still follow those scenes as that is the story progression.**

**Also, how is my writing? I hope my OCs turn out to be distinct as I wrote them, including all writing skills put there. I've a lot to look forward to, as I'm staring into Volume 1 while Volume 2's rolling. Chapter 5 felt slightly off, not that I'm here to review RWBY. **

**And writing can't fill what can be shared! Here are some notes:**

**"Miss Boomerang"'s twelve boomerangs work as complex as Robin's (DC) array of weapons in his utility belt. **

**Six OCs (excluding Carissa Aria) were introduced. **

**Carissa A. and Lorelei L.'s scene to stop the forest fire happened when Weiss happened. It fills in the blanks why the Emerald Forest didn't become a burned forest. **

**Ruby and Yang are there. Blake is there. Weiss caused a forest fire!**

**Sincerely, **

**Pianist707**

**P.S. The next chapter will be planned longer, and show many scenes to debuts. (School is coming.)**


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